


His Son

by heffalumps



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heffalumps/pseuds/heffalumps
Summary: Cullen and his baby boy spend quality time together.





	His Son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alacarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alacarton/gifts).



> A birthday present fic for my amazing, wonderful, glorious BAMF Highland Goddess, Sara.
> 
> Have a wonderful, wonderful birthday, darling!
> 
> with so much ♥,  
> effe

Elicia was tired and in pain. Cullen could see it from the half-crazed expression in her eyes, hear it from the way she snapped at everyone who dared speak with her. Their meeting with Josephine last night had been a disaster, one that had ended with the ambassador raising her hands in submission and declaring it over within the hour. As she had resolutely stated that they’d speak further once Elicia _calmed down_ , she had caught Cullen’s eye. A message had passed between the two advisors. They had worked together long enough by now that, from that single look, Cullen knew Josephine had a plan - and was looking to him to do his part in its execution.

Thus he had been prepared when Josephine tracked him down in the training yards in the morning, eager to explain her suggestion. If Cullen could only get Elicia to leave Finn with him for a few hours, Josephine would take her to the spa to relax.

Cullen was more than eager to do his part. In the three weeks since their baby had been born, Elicia had grown steadily more and more bad-tempered, plagued by the sleepless nights and unexpected pains that motherhood had bestowed upon her.

Cullen had been warned that becoming a father would be difficult - but he had never expected the chief source of his difficulties to be his wife. No matter how much he had attempted to reason with her, beg her to let him help, night after night Elicia insisted on being the one to wake when Finn squalled, the one to bathe him, the one to feed him, the one to change him. There was hardly a moment that his wife left their child’s side - even when he slept. She would then either fail at her attempts to nap, uneasy without the weight of the newborn in her arms, or pump milk into bottles to stave off the pain she felt when her breasts became too full - which, unfortunately, was often. Even Finn’s unending appetite did not seem to be unending enough. It was the first time in their entire relationship when Cullen had been getting more sleep of the two.

As it turned out, Elicia did not deal with exhaustion well. With Finn, she was as gentle and quick with a smile as always. With everyone else… well, it seemed as if she had no energy for anyone other than their baby.

The subject of taking a day off would have to be broached delicately. Cullen glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of their quarters. It was almost time. Josephine would be expecting her soon.

“Elicia?” he asked carefully.

“What is it?” His wife spun on her heel, looking up from where she had been staring at their sleeping infant in his crib.

Cullen tried to ignore the sharp tone of her voice. “Josephine asked if you might accompany her to the spa today. She’s made the appointment, and -”

He didn’t even have a chance to elaborate further before Elicia was already shaking her head and turning back toward Finn. “I couldn’t possibly; I have -”

“I’ll care for Finn,” he interrupted. He knew that insinuating that she might need the rest would not do him any favors. He had to be smarter than that. “I would enjoy the chance to spend some time with him alone. We haven’t had the chance, yet.”

The sincerity in his voice could not be doubted; it gave her pause, and her gaze softened immediately. “Are you certain? There’s much to be done in caring for him.”

Cullen glanced toward the crib, made more confident in his assurations by the quiet snuffling of a child fast asleep. “I’ve been watching closely for the past three weeks. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” If luck was on his side, perhaps Finn wouldn’t even awaken until Elicia returned.

He could see her pondering his suggestion, torn between wanting to give him what he was asking for and her apparent inability to leave the child’s side. Cullen could easily understand - though he hadn’t known the baby as intimately as Elicia had these past nine months, the very moment he had first held Finn in his arms he had known there was nothing in the world he would not do for his son.

“I… I suppose I could visit the spa.” Elicia’s voice faltered, but even her unsure acquiescence was enough for Cullen. Silently congratulating himself on managing to persuade his dauntless wife, he crossed the room to press her cloak into her hands.

“Josephine said she’d be waiting for you in the lower courtyard at midday. You’ll need to hurry.”

Elicia glanced at the clock, taken aback by how quickly she was expected to leave her child. She looked once again at Finn’s sleeping face and then back at Cullen. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course.” Cullen tried to inject his voice with as much self-assurance as possible.

“There’s milk is in the -”

“The dwarven cold chest. If he’s hungry, I should heat the milk until it’s lukewarm. I’ll check the temperature on my wrist.” Elicia had told him this not two days earlier, as she had been pondering if there was any possible use for the pumped breast milk that necessitated saving it. After all, _she was always here_ , as she had said.

“Yes, that’s right.” Elicia still looked very unwilling, and Cullen placed his arm around her to steer her away from the crib.

“Josephine is waiting.”

Elicia opened her mouth, and Cullen could see the protest rising to her her lips.

“Go. He will be fine, I promise you.” He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss onto her open palm before nuding her gently toward the stairs. “Go.”

The obstinate set of his wife’s mouth softened. “Josephine is always cross if she’s kept waiting.”

“She is.”

“I… I suppose I should leave, then. If you’re really quite certain?”

“I am.” One last assurance. “Please, try to enjoy yourself.”

Elicia gave him a doubting look, but proceeded down the stairs regardless. Soon, he could hear the door close behind her, and a silence fell over the room. Taking a deep breath, Cullen turned around and went back to his son.

Finn was sleeping soundly on his back, suckling his thumb. Cullen smiled and chuckled quietly - he had never before seen anyone sleep so peacefully, so blissfully relaxed and trusting of the world. He would make sure the world was worthy of that trust. Spurred by the thought, he moved to his desk to finish up the report he’d been meaning to write on the progress of the bridge his men were reconstructing in the Western Approach.

He didn’t get far into it before a piercing wail split the silence of the room. His eyes widening in horror, Cullen hurried back to the crib and carefully took his son in his arms. What was wrong? Why was he crying? He bounced the baby up and down in his arms, realizing the soothing noises escaping his lips were the same he used to calm down a frightened warhorse. His calloused hands felt too big, too heavy, too rough around the tiny body of his son.

It really shouldn’t have surprised him that baby didn’t immediately stop crying at his clumsy ministrations. Oh, Maker. He was not prepared for this. Despite all the assurances he had made his wife, he was absolutely not prepared for this. How did this come so naturally to Elicia? She made it look so easy!

“Oh, Maker’s breath,” he swore out loud, looking around the room for ideas. Perhaps the boy was cold? The window had been open for quite a while. Still shushing and bouncing the baby up and down, he retrieved his fur-collared cloak from where it lay, casually strewn across the back of his chair, and pulled it around himself and the boy and closed the clasp. He swaddled Finn in the fabric, pulling the child close to his chest.

At first, Finn seemed to quiet down a little, his wailing softening until it was only sniffles and whines. The Cullen’s sigh of relief was far premature, however - as soon as the sound had passed his lips, the screaming began again. The problem was clearly not the temperature of the room.

Why did the baby have to be so _loud_? Was he always this loud? Was something really, really wrong with him? Cullen wracked his mind, trying to bring up the list of reasons a baby might cry that Mia had drilled into him before the birth.

Uncomfortable position in the crib? Couldn’t be it. Cold? Couldn’t be it. Too warm? Not possible in wintry Skyhold. Tired? The baby had been asleep. Dirty nappy?

Oh, dear Maker. Gingerly, Cullen moved the baby so he was holding it in one arm and patted his nappy with his free hand, testing. Thankfully, it seemed empty, and Cullen felt almost ashamed at the sense of relief that washed over him at the thought. He was a grown man, a seasoned warrior and a commander of armies, and yet he felt genuine relief at the thought of not having to change a dirty nappy. Whenever he offered to help Elicia with one, he was always secretly a little glad that she never wanted him to.

Another piercing scream from the infant in his arms roused him out of his thoughts. It was hard to even think with this wailing in his ears. What else had Mia said?

Hunger. Hunger had been the absolute first thing on the list. Cullen could have slapped himself for being so dense. _Remember, Cullen - the baby will seem constantly starved when it comes. Don’t panic, and tell Elicia not to, either; it’s completely normal_ , Mia had written. Elicia and Cullen had laughed at that part in the letter - somehow, after the birth, Finn’s constant hunger had ceased to be quite as amusing.

His heart almost broke as he set the crying infant back into his crib, carefully laying him on his back as he had seen Elicia do hundreds of times as she set out to begin feeding him. He was quick to retrieve a bottle of milk from the dwarven cold chest in the corner of the room, and even quicker to place the small kettle they kept filled with water over the fire in their hearth.

After he placed the bottle into the kettle to warm, he rushed to once again take Finn in his arms in a futile attempt to console him. Once again, his awkward murmurs and pats did nothing to calm the boy. Finn’s cries grew louder; Cullen’s ears were starting to ring.

Agonizing minutes passed until the water in the kettle began to bubble. With his free hand, Cullen reached down to pick up the bottle and then tilted it against the bare skin of his other wrist. It was almost at the same temperature as his skin, if a little warmer.

Cullen supposed that would do. With the baby in one arm and the bottle clasped in his other hand, Cullen sat down on the loveseat in front of the fireplace. Gently coaxing the rubbery mouthpiece into the boy’s mouth between his wails, Cullen was immediately rewarded with a beautiful sound - the contented suckling of Finn’s mouth against the bottle as the boy drank his milk greedily.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” he sighed. No sooner than the words were out of Cullen’s mouth, however, his son pulled away. His tiny face twisted once again. “No, no, no no no, please,” Cullen beseeched the boy, but to no avail. The screaming started again - and, try as Cullen might, Finn would not accept the bottle anymore. Every time he brought the bottle close to his lips, the child wailed even louder and swatted the mouthpiece away. Clearly, the problem wasn’t hunger, either.

He had seen Elicia go through this process enough times to know what he had to do next; even a short meal was a meal, and a baby had to be burped afterwards. He set the bottle down on the loveseat beside him, awkwardly bringing Finn up to his shoulder as he had seen Elicia do. Carefully, almost too afraid of crushing the tiny being in his arms, he patted Finn’s back… and realized he had forgotten something.

The burping cloth. The second the thought crossed Cullen’s mind, however, Finn fell silent for the briefest of moments - long enough to grunt and spew sticky white goop on the fur of Cullen’s collar. And then he resumed his crying. Naturally.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered, and gently brought the screaming child back down from his shoulder, wiping away the remaining white spittle at the corners of his mouth with his already soiled cloak. The one that had only just been washed. With a slight flash of annoyance, Cullen unbuckled the cloak with his free hand and threw it toward the corner of the room, where the laundry basket was already piled high with nappies and burping clothes the maids hadn’t yet come to collect.

“This is my only cloak,” Cullen chided the boy and bent down to look at him. “And you’ve dirtied it.”

Suddenly, there was blessed silence. The difference was so stark that Cullen briefly wondered if he’d gone deaf. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be able to hear his own thoughts. But no - the screaming had truly stopped. As soon as Cullen had bent over Finn, the baby’s eyes had widened and his mouth dropped open in an expression of almost comical astonishment.

Any annoyance Cullen may have felt at the fate of his cloak melted away that very instant.

This was somehow… new. Of course, he had held the boy before. He had held him the very first night he had been born, tears in his eyes and pride in his heart. He had held him countless times since - staring at the child in wonder, thinking about how much he looked like Elicia and how incredible it was that she had given him a son so beautiful.

But now, their gazes met, perhaps for the first time - and the little brown eyes staring into his were so, so familiar. They were eyes he had seen in the faces of his father, his sister, his brothers. They were the Rutherford eyes; _Cullen’s_ eyes. As much as Finn reminded him of Elicia, from the shape of his ears to the bridge of his nose, there was also an unmistakable trace of Cullen in his features. Now that he really looked, he could see it. He could see how Finn was not just _their_ child, but _his_. There was a bond between them that was just theirs, a bond that belonged to just him and his son.

His son, who was gazing at him in wonder, clearly _seeing_ him and _thinking_ about him. Wondering, perhaps, why his mother had left him with such an incompetent caretaker. Cullen huffed in amusement at the thought, then fell silent again, marvelling at what he had just realized.

This was a _person_ in his arms. Not just _the baby_ , not just _the child_ , but _Finn_. A strange lump rose in his chest, his breath catching.

“I waited for months and months to meet you. I suppose I should have said hello sooner, now that you’re finally here.” The words came out a little choked, and he could feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes. “So… Hello. It’s nice to meet you, Finn. I’m... I’m your father.”

The child in his arms gurgled as if in response and wrinkled his nose. Cullen braced himself for renewed screaming, but was instead surprised by the tiniest fist being swung at his face. A hoarse chuckle escaping his throat, Cullen lifted his free hand to protect his nose. The grasping hand landed on his index finger instead, latching on with all the force the child could muster.

“That’s a good, strong grip. We’ll make a swordsman of you yet.”

Another realization - someday, he would be teaching this child to spar with a sword. To ride. To hunt. To think for himself. To choose the right path. Within this tiny bundle were the beginnings of the man he would someday become - and Cullen would be there, every step of the way, to guide him.

Apparently unconcerned with his father’s musings, the baby yawned, and his adorable, plump cheeks dimpled in the sweetest way. A smile so wide it almost hurt his cheeks rose to Cullen’s face in response. For now, it was enough to just hold his baby. Everything else would follow later.

There was a new expression on Finn’s face: a squint of fierce concentration that rivaled that of his indomitable mother. As Cullen watched, fascinated, the corners of the baby’s mouth drew upwards, until finally he was copying his father’s expression. He was smiling back at Cullen.

Cullen’s chest constricted, and he blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that threatened to overwhelm him in earnest now. “That’s my boy,” he murmured, lifting the child to press a kiss against his forehead. Finn yawned again, and his eyes started to drift closed. Cullen tucked him back into the crook of his arm, and it wasn’t long until he heard the quiet snuffling that signified a happily sleeping baby.

In the warmth of the fire, with the comforting weight of his baby in his arms, Cullen could feel his own eyelids beginning to droop. He mustn’t fall asleep. He mustn’t...

A mere heartbeat later, Cullen felt the soft brush of lips against his forehead. Blinking groggily, he looked up to see Elicia bent over him. “You two seem to have managed after all,” she said quietly, running her fingers across the sleeping Finn’s cheek. Her mouth turned up in a small smile - the most genuine Cullen had received from her in a while. While the dark circles under her eyes were still there, her expression was less harried. She looked much better.

“We have,” Cullen whispered back. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It was almost like we were father and son. How do you feel?”

“Better. Much better. Thank you, Cullen. I apologize for having been so… difficult.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Carefully, so as not to jostle Finn from his peaceful slumber, Elicia sat beside them on the loveseat and leaned her head against his shoulder. Cullen rested his cheek against the top of her head in return, sighing.

“You’ve given me a child, Elicia,” he continued. “After this, I don’t believe you would owe me an apology even if you stabbed me. I love you.”

A ghost of a laugh passed her lips. “And I you. So, so much.”

For a long while, they sat there in silence. Listening to the peaceful rise and fall of their child’s breathing, staring into the dwindling flames of the fire, leaning on each other - together, as a family.


End file.
